A Way With Words
by nattylovesjordy
Summary: Drabbles and ficlets of two hundred words or less and of varying timelines, all focused on Beckett, Castle, and everything between them.
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Note: _**_My first foray into the Castle fandom. Thanks to LogicBomb.32 for telling me how to find random words!_

__**Summary: **Little drabbles and ficlets of two hundred words or less and of varying timelines.__

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><p><em><strong>A Way With Words<strong>_

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><p><strong>Segment<strong>

A segment. That is all she is willing to give, all she has ever been able to give. Sometimes she gives them to him, other times he takes them on his own accord. With each segment gained, he builds a new heart. When she's ready, when she has given all she can give, he will give it back to her, show her how far she's come and how much she has changed. From there they can move forward, segment by segment.

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><p><strong>Exception<strong>

He was never an exception, a clause in her rules that she excluded. No, he was an unexpected variable, a loophole that, despite her years and years of finalizing, her rules had failed to plan for. She didn't let him in, not at first. She tried to keep him away, to strengthen her barriers, but eventually found that she simply couldn't. So maybe he was an exception after all, someone she decided to let in, little by little, after so long of keeping everyone else out.

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><p><strong>Forby<strong> _(close by; near)_

One of his books is always close to her bed. Whether on the nightstand or in the drawer with her gun, one or more of his novels are always nearby for the nights the nightmares keep her up and she needs an escape, an escape he has personally gifted to her.

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><p><strong>Letdown<strong>

A simple flicker of light, something so brief he thought it a figment of his over-saturated and paranoid imagination. Sun-lit, golden-brown mixed with bright, spiky green. Soon, red entered the equation, but he's already there at her side. He had always wanted to feel the green grass mix with her soft, brown hair, had always wanted to hover over her and caress her cheek with his coarse thumbs, say the three words that had been threatening to escape; _I love you_.

Never did he imagine it happening like this, after a shot pierced her body, cracked her very core. He was supposed to keep her safe, whether from the world or herself. That was his job and he failed.

He was a letdown; he failed Montgomery, failed her, and failed himself.

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><p><strong>Talker<strong>

She is armed and dangerous. He has a pen and his alarming wit. She is the adult, he the child. She wears the pants and the badge. He simply follows her around and brings her coffee. She's the more reserved one and he's the talker of the two. She's in charge, and that, at least, is exactly as it should be.

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><p><strong>Shotgun<strong>

It was the sound of the weapon reloading that caused her to wrap an arm behind her and push him aside. That was all the warning they were given to take cover, all the warning they were given that it could be the last time either of them saw each other.

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><p><strong>Gimmick<strong>

"What _is_ that, Castle?"

Kate stopped five feet from her desk, causing Castle to run smack into her. Without words, she turned and glared at him, their noses nearly touching. If her gaze wasn't so piercing and heavily armed with painful-looking daggers, he would have been distracted by their closeness and how absolutely sexy she looked when she got "riled up." However, as it were, he cleared his throat a few times and regained his composure (and manhood).

"Why, what does it look like, Detective?"

She sat at her desk with a defeat and slight happiness she attempted to mask. "Like Christmas exploded on my desk."

He smiled his knowing grin, the one he smiles when he feels particularly clever for beating Beckett, and ungracefully plopped himself in his designated chair next to her desk. "Precisely," he answered. "_Someone_ could use some Christmas cheer."

She glared once more and stood up, heading back to the break room with a knowledgeable and teasing grin in her fair lips. "I refuse to be anywhere near here, or you, until you clean that mess up, Castle," she called over her shoulder.

Castle gulped and with one swift movement of his arm the décor was in the trash bin.

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><p><strong>Sign<strong>

Her chest aches, but it's more than a pain from the physical scar that mars her cream-white skin. With one hand writing notes on her notepad, Kate lifts her other hand to her chest and slips it under her shirt to rub the irritated pucker of skin. Her fingers catch the chain she always wears, always has within reaching distance. She follows the trail down to the ring and rubs her thumb over the setting. With steady hands she brings the ring to rest between her slim fingers and the healing hole.

Out of the corner of her eye she catches his movement and turns to watch as he makes his way through the precinct, coffees in hand. Suddenly the ache is gone, the pain lifted from her body. To her mother, wherever she may be, she thinks, _I understand, Mom. I understand it now._

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><p><strong>Tread<strong>

_Tread lightly_, he has to remind himself. She's broken and scared and no matter how many kisses he gives her at night she still needs him to move slowly.

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><p><strong>Fight<strong>

She struggled; her body revolted against his touch, against letting him drag her out of that hangar. His arms wrapped tighter and tighter around her waist, refusing to let go.

It wasn't easy, hearing her cries. It wasn't easy, feeling her arms and legs thrash against him. It wasn't easy, pushing her against that car in the dark of night, covering her mouth with his palm and trying to keep her upright.

His heart broke with every cry, with every stifled sob, every tremor of her hand and twitch of her body. He, too, wanted to fall to his knees, because the woman he cares most about, the woman he loves, was hurting, drying a little inside. It took everything in him to keep her away, to keep her safe, until he no longer could.

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><p><strong>Eraser<strong>

Every murder victim that goes up on her whiteboard eventually comes down from it. The pictures are filed away, the notes stored, the report turned in. The case is closed and, for all intent and purposes, they don't have to take up that murder's burden any longer, can go on with their lives and find another crime to solve.

It's not that easy for her, though. Every victim's family deserves justice, deserves closure, something she knows better than anyone else. Even when she provides families with the answers she never got, a simple swipe of a whiteboard eraser doesn't make her forget, doesn't clump that case in with every other and make it meaningless. Nothing can erase the memories for her, no matter how many whiteboard erasers she or her partner try. Nothing.

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><p><strong>Four<strong>

So much can happen in four years. The tiny baby you once held in your arms can grow into a small person with their very own personality—traits, faults and all. That same child can graduate high school, or finish college at the top of their class.

You can start a new job or continue an old one. You can find a myriad of lovers, people to simply warm your bed at night, nothing more. You can write a book or two, maybe even solve a few murders while you're at it.

Or you can fall in love.

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><p><strong>Chemistry<strong>

It was instant, he would say. Maybe it was the writer side of him, the side with a way of words and an appreciation for techniques to pull a reader's heartstrings. But, part of him knows better, and part of him knows _she_ knows better. It was there from the beginning, alongside her snarky attitude and their witty, banter-laced interrogation.

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><p>.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**_Author's Note:_**_ One word really struck me and is much longer than should be, but oh well? Enjoy. _

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><p><strong>Limit<strong>

Apples, his safe word. It was something that he hopes to never have to say; a word that she hopes would one day come from his lips at her will.

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><p><strong>Public<strong>

In the dark of night, when both are sure nobody watches, she slides her hand into his. They stay closer together, much of their bodies touching and generating heat. They're alone, together, a privacy created by the curtain that descends at nightfall.

But the curtain rises every morning with the sun, taking with it the safety of the moon and the private bubble created only in the absence of light. Then, with the sun and people to expose their secret, they face the public. In the light of day, when everybody watches, her hand has already escaped his and they are who they are: Detective Kate Beckett and Richard Castle, utmost professionals.

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><p><strong>Kernel<strong>

Over the drowning buzz of the television, Kate listened to the microwave's ministrations. Her microwave is old, the wheels lacking the smoothness of their young life. Every few seconds, seven to be exact, the sound of the wheels hitching could be heard alongside the regular buzz and swish of air blown out of the metal box. Despite its age, and grating noises that scream at her mental to-do list to purchase a new microwave before it combusts and ruins her apartment with flames, it still does a decent job of heating up food. It might take a little longer, but it never fails to make food that scalds her tongue and provides her with a raw roof of her mouth.

At last, the popcorn kernels began to heat up and started popping. The smell of salt and buttery goodness wafted through the kitchen and to Kate's seat on the couch in her living room.

For a long while after her shooting she couldn't eat popcorn. It wasn't the taste or the enticing smell, but the sound of the wheels that get stuck and rattle the glass plate, the sound of each individual kernel popping, creating masked fireworks in the bag.

It was stupid, and made her feel weak, but her dad had to make the popcorn for them when they watched movies, had to sit next to his defenseless daughter as each kernel popped and rattled something, some fear deep inside of her.

Her thoughts drifted back to the case involving the sniper, how every little sound had haunted her more than usual because of the sniper-related circumstances. Castle hadn't pushed, hadn't tried to tease her to soften the many blows. She was able to see his expression, see him waiting for the other shoe to drop, or the last kernel to pop and startle her beyond repair. He had been bracing himself for the worst, bracing himself for something to break her, pull away the last thread and, in turn, break him as well.

She had done that to him. That was all her fault. Maybe if she had teased him less, said less jokes in saucy tones, unintentionally led him on a lot less, he wouldn't love her, he wouldn't have been bracing himself for the fear of a single, insignificant kernel that could ruin her, just as she had waited for all summer when popcorn was being made. If only, she couldn't help but ponder. The maybes of life were getting to her.

Pulling her out of her detrimental thought processes, the timer on the microwave beeped, calling Kate to stop the shrill sound. However, still alarmed by Castle's feelings, including his rushed confession of love, she remained still and waited for the very last kernel to explode.

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><p><strong>Bye<strong>

Goodbye, a simple parting that never meant that much to either of them. It's more of a nicety, something people say because they have manners and were raised to do so. However, the second both of them lost the chance for a proper goodbye the very second the shot was fired, he promised it was something he would never take for granted. His promise was strengthened when she crashed in the ambulance, and when she never called him.

She made the same promise, but only after she realized how huge of a mistake she had made, only once she recognized how much it would have pained her, and him, if she never got to say all of the things she wanted to relate.

Those promises, to themselves and later each other, are the reason why they always try to part on good terms and with at least one, innocent word: goodbye.

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><p><strong>Hope <strong>_(S4E07 "Cops and Robbers")_**  
><strong>

As she cut his binds, she spoke. He heard her words, listened to the husky and intimate tone she had taken on, but he focused on what he saw on her face and understood behind her words—immense relief, a much welcomed flicker of returning hope, and the slightest sliver of something close to love.

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><p><strong>Confine<strong>

Never once in their cuffed confinement did he feel _confined_ by Kate Beckett, nor did she feel confined by him. The close proximity was rather nice, relaxing and safe despite their situation. If waking up next to him all the while wearing cuffs could be that good, she would see to it that it happened more often.

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><p><strong>Population<strong>

Out of the eight million, one hundred and seventy-five thousand, and one hundred and thirty-three people that reportedly reside in New York, he chose her. Out of his countless fans, and all of the various famous, gorgeous women he could score anywhere, he chose her. Out of the thirty-five thousand officers in New York, she was the one who read his books and caught the case that led her to him and, invariably, made her the one he chose.

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><p><strong>Hollow<strong>

They say the eyes are the gateway to the soul. Some even say that the eyes betray a person's true feelings. When Castle looks into her eyes, she's afraid of what he sees. She tries to remain strong, to appear confident and composed, but she knows he sees exactly what she does in the mirror every morning: a hollow soul, a distinct lack of life.

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><p><strong>Verbal<strong>

"Castle, you idiot!"

Beckett's exclamation surprised him more than the shove to the chest that accompanied her verbal assault. He had saved both of their lives by rushing the gunman like a defensive blitz against a quarterback. It was risky, sure, but it had ended in their favor, right?

After his own eyes widened in shock, his pupils expanding, his brow furrowed and his eyes squinted in concern. He heard what she wasn't verbally saying, the unspoken line of conversation between them. He had scared her.

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><p><strong>Introduction<strong>

Instead of writing a short line or two of dedication, he wrote an introduction, nearly an entire two pages of words in place of his regular dedication. It didn't pertain to the story, didn't have anything to do with gratitude or thanks to all of his supporters and dedicated fans. It was a love letter, and it was to her.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note: **__As for the fourth word, I SWEAR it actually came up. I even took a screen shot for any dissenters._

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><p><strong>Poker <strong>_(S01E08 "Ghosts")_

It was the poker game when she knew. He had been acting funny, more so than usual, and his emotions were stronger. Some days he would come home with a bounce in his step and a ridiculously happy grin on his face. Other days he would come home distressed by a burden than was not his own. She had had her suspicions, but when she took a peak at his hand, she knew.

Richard Castle, egotistical and cocky, would never throw a hand of poker. Sure, he could be charming and rather romantic, the later often to a fault, but he simply would _not _fold when he held such fantastic cards in his hands for just any woman.

Kate Beckett was clearly someone he cared deeply for, and that was something Martha Rodgers was rather thrilled about.

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><p><strong>Result<strong>

"As a result," he started, his suave storytelling voice rising in timbre, "The beautiful figure skater hitched a ride with the handsome space cowboy, and they lived happily ever after."

Their child giggled.

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><p><strong>Porter <strong>_(A person hired to carry burdens or baggage, as at a railroad station or a hotel; or, a person who has charge of a door or gate, like a doorkeeper)_

Katherine Beckett liked being in control. Whether that meant controlling the remote as a teen or taking charge of her life and its direction as an adult, she would make sure everything panned out the way she wanted. Somehow, when Castle came along, she unconsciously dropped the reigns and let him lead from time to time.

And, somehow, she has learned to let him co-lead her heart and carry some of her burden.

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><p><strong>Castle<strong>

Growing up, his mother told him elaborate bedtime stories filled with Arabian princes, exotic spies, and wonderful mothers. He once believed such stories, casting his father in the role of the Arabian king or the exotic spy fighting the space aliens. Then he realized they were all make believe, pure fiction; Martha had spun stories, built a castle full of facetious explanations and false hope. When he decided to write some of his own, he wanted to keep the line between truth and fiction intact, and created a new identity, a new name to always remind him of the difference.

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><p><strong>Present<strong>

After a night freezing in a cooler, a bullet to the heart, nearly drowning in a car, and almost falling from a high ledge, she vowed to leave the past and live in the present, a promise she whispered on his warm lips.

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><p><strong>Generator <strong>_(They had to do _something_ during Hurricane Sandy, right?)_

When the generator kicked in, a few lights flooded through the apartment, casting soft shadows across their bodies, but their passion did not stop.

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><p><strong>Unable<strong>

The one time he wants to save her the most, the one time she _needs_ saving the most, and he is helpless.

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><p><strong>Fire<strong>

_It is amazing how fast a change can come upon someone. At any given moment, a person may transform in another's eye. In a brief second, one can go from thirsting for one sensation to dying for another. Or, a feeling can be lost, forgotten at the snap of one's fingers._

_Like a quick flick of a light switch illuminates a room, passion sparks. Stillness may permeate the room, but within seconds of lighting a match, the gasoline's fumes met the spark and a trail of flames shoots through a once-abandoned warehouse. Flames lick the walls in a giant ball, following the flammable liquid's trail, until the fire catches onto the desired object and a channeled burn ensues, fed for a while by the igniting agent._

_You brought the match to the track of gas, started the reaction that rapidly spread through my veins until it reached the atrium of my heart._

_The fire depleted the oxygen, just like the passion overwhelmed my lungs._

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><p><strong>Party <strong>(_Most dialogue courtesy of "Firefly")_

"Are you in pain?" Beckett asked, leaning against the ambulance door as the paramedic bandaged Castle's abdomen.

"Absolutely," answered Castle. "I got stabbed, you know. Right here."

He twisted to the side and showed her the bloody gauze. The paramedic scolded him and, ashamed, he untwisted his body.

Beckett nodded. "I saw."

After a pause, Castle said, "I don't care much for fancy parties. Too rough."

After she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion—he was rich and had thrown his share of "fancy parties." "It wasn't entirely a disaster. We caught the guy."

Castle turned and pointed once more to his wound. "I got stabbed. Right here."

She rolled her eyes and walked away.

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><p><strong>Tape<strong>

Beckett honked at the car in front of her, willing them to actually accelerate on a green light, as she answered the phone.

"Uh, yeah," Castle replied, his voice seemingly far away from the phone's speaker. "Would you mind coming over? I'm… well, I'm stuck."

Beckett sighed. "Do I even want to know?"

"No, not really," he said, rapidly, before she hung up the phone.

-xxx-

When she knocked, he hollered for her to let herself in. "You really shouldn't leave your front door unlocked, Castle," she yelled as she walked into the foyer. She heard a grunt and something heavy scraping along the wood floor. "Castle?"

After a moment, he called, "In the bedroom!"

She ran towards the back of the loft and busted the door open. Once her mind processed the scene before her, she dropped her shoulders and holstered her gun. "Hello Kitty duct tape?"

Castle tried to shrug, but Alexis and his mother had duct tapped him to the chair so tightly that his movements were imperceptible. It had taken him an hour to move across the room, slide his shoe off, and call Beckett with his big toe.

"It was on sale!" was his only defense.

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><p>.<p> 


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